


Not a Manic Pixie Dream Girl

by infantblue



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infantblue/pseuds/infantblue
Summary: He's a little socially inept and she's way too bright to look at, but he wouldn't have it any other way.





	1. Skinny Dipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul's first encounter with Maka Albarn is not something he plans on telling their future children about.

The first time he meets her, she’s stripping naked in his neighbor’s backyard. 

Soul doesn’t want to be at this party. His parents are the ones who planned it—and if that isn’t enough reason to want to ditch the entire thing, he doesn’t what is. 

Wes—perfect, dutiful Wes—promised their parents that they would both be in attendance to entertain all the sons and daughters of the business associates they didn’t really care about. He promised that they’d play nice, that they’d be the perfect hosts, that they’d dress up in three piece suits and kiss the hands of snooty heiresses and pretend that they were as flawless and gentlemanly as the tabloids believe they were, even though every smile they flashed was totally fake. He promised he’d take care of his “rebellious younger brother” and make sure that Soul would behave. 

But then he invited Blake Barrett. 

That was the moment Soul realized his brother was full of shit. And he fucking loved him for it. 

Blake Barrett—only son of Sid and Mira Barrett, co-founders of Barricade Inc., the most illustrious electronics company on the West Coast—is the closest thing Soul has a best friend. He’s also really fucking crazy. Blake doesn’t possess any volume control, has no sense of personal space, and doesn’t seem to understand the fundamental laws of human behavior, but somehow Blake’s deficiencies in all things that make a perfect liar in their circles are the very reasons Soul trusts him the most. 

In short, Blake is the only person Soul knows who always tells the truth—even when he shouldn’t. 

Soul isn’t sure how it happens. One second they’re stealing their second bottle of champagne from the kitchen while trying to avoid their parents, and the next, they’ve hijacked everyone from the party under the age of eighteen and are breaking into Soul's neighbor’s backyard to use his fancy pool. 

Sans clothing. 

He blames Blake because ninety-nine percent of all bad ideas come from Blake’s excuse for a non-brain, but Soul thinks the alcohol might also have something to do with it since he only protested a handful of times compared to his usual dozen. 

“YAHOOOO!” Blake hollers as he sprints the last couple feet and cannon balls into the pool, buck-ass naked. Soul catches a glimpse of a snowy moon and bright blue shrubs surrounding a not-so-subtle peen, and he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to look at blue raspberry jolly ranchers the same ever again. The others don’t seem to be fighting the same urge to vomit as Soul is because they simply cackle and jump in after Blake, sporting exactly the same amount of clothing as him—which is to say  _none at freaking all_. 

“Scarring, isn’t it?” 

Startled, Soul glances over just in time to see the girl who’d spoken unclasp her bra and drop it to the ground. 

Soul chokes on his own spit. 

Faintly he registers silky blond hair and dainty shoulders and flawlessly pale skin, but that’s all overshadowed by the fact that the stranger next to him is currently bending over to shimmy her black lace panties down her thighs, effectively stripping to her birthday suit and stealing every thought he’s ever had in the process. 

His name? Gone. His reason for living? Definitely to stare at her boobs. He may be seventeen years old and best friend to the biggest pervert on the planet, but this is the first time Soul has ever seen a naked girl in the flesh—pun intended—and he is not acting nearly as cool as he hoped he would. 

Luckily, the pretty girl seems amused by his utter lack of cool because she laughs again at the dumbfounded look on his face, one hand lifting past her chest to point as she giggles, “My eyes are up here, you know.” 

His gaze snaps up immediately to meet the eyes in question and he stops breathing at the amusement in them because they’re staring right at him and they’re green. Green, and soft, and round like her— 

“Boobs,” Soul blurts out, and then his face turns as red as his eyes and he wishes more than anything that lightning will strike down from the clear night sky and put him out of his misery. 

The girl simply laughs. “You’re adorable. Soul, right?” At his gaping jaw, she adds, “That’s your house next door, isn’t it? Where the party is?” 

“Y- _nnnhnngh_.” He’s finding it very hard to form words when she’s not wearing any clothes. 

She’s presses her lips together like she’s trying very hard to hide a smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,  _ynnnghhh_. I feel like I should introduce myself, but we’ve already skipped a couple bases and your eyes are practically having seizures so you don’t look at my breasts. How about I just say I’ll see you in the pool?” With that, she gives him an adorable wave of her fingers then leaps into the water with a flawless cannonball that makes a bigger splash than should be physically possible considering how small she is. 

The naked crowd erupts into cheers. 

“Yo, Evans!” calls Blake. “You gonna get in the pool or what, assface?“ 

Soul likes to think he doesn’t have many issues with his body—he’s more apathetic towards it than anything else, and he’s certainly not bad looking, not if his mother’s gushing is any indication—but it is in that moment that he realizes for certain that he Fucked Up. 

After all, by hesitating and being the last one to strip and jump into the pool, everyone else is already below ground level, shielded by water, staring at him. Waiting. Watching. The pressure is on. 

Soul wants to die. 

“Come on, Evans!” yells Kilik Rung, one of the few guys he does recognize from the party before they all ditched and snuck into Kid’s house. “Live a little.” 

“Yeah, Evans!” agrees one of the girls with a giggle. “Don’t wimp out. You only get to participate in a mock-orgy once, after all.” 

“Especially with that ugly mug,” snickers Blake, earning him a scolding splash from Big Green Eyes, who shushes him and tells him not to peer pressure. 

Ah, fuck it. It’s not like he can embarrass himself any more than he already has.

Not wanting to look like a wimp in front of the prettiest pair of boobs he’s ever seen, Soul begins to strip, ignoring the loud cheers that erupt from the pool lest he turn an uncomfortable shade of red all over, even in the dim lighting of his neighbor’s backyard. He then hastily slides into the deep end of the pool, away from where most of the teenagers are treading. It may not be a grand entrance but it is an entrance all the same, which earns him an encouraging barrage of cheers from the others. 

He blushes. 

“You actually made it,” Green Eyes giggles, swimming over to him. He thanks sweet wonderful mercies that the water blurs out her other most defining features below the neckline and therefore his as well. “I thought you were going to skimp out like you always do.” 

“Always?” he echoes with a frown. 

“Maks, are you intimidating my boy?” bellows Blake. “Don’t make me kick your ass!” 

Soul looks confused. “Maks?” 

“Maka,” the girl corrects. “Blake just likes to pretend we’re a lot closer than we are by issuing a series of very unfortunate nicknames. That’s not even the worst of them.” 

“You know Blake?” 

“These circles are a lot smaller than they look, Soul. We all tend to stick together when it comes to functions like this because otherwise we’d lose our goddamn minds between layers of chiffon and bullshit.” She offers him a teasing smile. “You’d know that if you stopped ignoring all our invitations for anarchist get-togethers disguised as parties.” 

That’s when it clicks. This girl is Maka Albarn, daughter of Spirit Albarn, founder and CEO of Scythemeister, the leading brand of vodka and vodka-based drinks consumed by the general public this side of Kentucky and especially overseas. Blake  _has_  mentioned her before—typically in the context of her “Best Friend with the Enormous Melons”—and she is telling the truth. Soul  _does_  ditch every time Blake invites him to public gatherings of other human beings. The only time he deigns to interact with people is when his parents force him to, hence why he doesn’t know any of these other teenagers that Blake acts so comfortably around. 

Blake says their group calls themselves Spartoi. Apparently, they do crazy things together on the reg and have a rule where no insane deed goes unaccompanied, which is typically how Blake manages to strong-arm others into being his partner in crime through even the most random acts of terror. 

Soul’s red eyes flicker to the blurry shapes beneath the water again. Maybe he should stop being such a loner, after all.  

“What the hell is going on here?” 

The voice makes him freeze. Eleven pairs of eyes swivel to the surface where the illusive Xic Mortimer Jr—better known as Kid to those who’ve met him—stands at the foot of the pool— _his_  pool—wearing a very displeased expression. 

“Kid!” croons one of the blond sisters. Polly? No, Patty, he’s pretty sure. “You made it!” 

Kid scowls. “Anyone going to explain what you’re doing in my pool in the middle of an Evans party? Or how you even got past the security system without my knowledge?” 

Just when Soul thinks they’re all done for and are going to get arrested and thrown in jail—and damn it, he’s barely lived, let alone touched a boob—Patty’s sister Liz flashes the dark-haired stickler a brilliant smile. “Depends. Are you going to join us?” 

As it turns out, the youngest Mortimer is as susceptible to peer pressure and breasts as Soul is. 

“Kid likes to pretend he’s Spartoi’s de facto voice of reason,” Maka explains at Soul’s dumbfounded look, “but he’s whipped when it comes to our darling Elizabeth and everyone knows it. She can get him to do just about anything—even ditch fancy networking parties to skinny dip in his own pool.” 

“You know, I’ve lived next to him my whole life and I never knew he actually liked girls.” 

“One girl,” Maka corrects, “and that’s what happens when you never leave your house, dork.” 

Soul grimaces. Fair enough. “I just can’t believe you all willingly and knowingly hang out with Blake.” 

“You do too, or so I’ve heard. Blake always talks about his best bro Soul with the shark teeth and tendency to turn into a sputtering puddle of stupid in the presence of anyone of the opposite sex.”

At Soul’s scowl, Maka laughs, throwing her arms to rest on the side of the pool so she doesn’t have to keep treading water. The act makes the delicate angles of her shoulders flex and Soul has never thought to be fascinated by female shoulder blades before this very moment, but for the life of him, he can’t look away.

She slides him a brilliant smile. “Don’t worry. I think it’s sweet.” 

His eyes flash with realization. “You were teasing me earlier. When you stripped.” 

Maka is unapologetic. “I wanted to know if Blake was telling the truth.” She grins as she eyes him. “He definitely was.” 

Soul pretends to drown himself in the water, making her laugh. 

Somewhere on the deck among the piles of hastily discarded clothes, a cell phone starts ringing. Followed by another, and another, and another, until they’re bombarded by a discorded symphony of bad ring tones and trouble. 

Jacqueline groans. “And the parents have reached enlightenment.” 

“Took them long enough to notice we were missing,” mutters Kim. 

“Who’s going to be the one to breach the world back from Narnia first?” 

In what turns out to be a very impressive display of synchrony, there’s a succession of splashes as everyone snaps a hand to their nose and turns to stare expectantly at Soul. Soul frowns, lost for a moment as he glances down at his own hand still treading in the water, before it dawns on him. 

“Oh, motherf—”

* * *

He’s sitting on the roof outside his window when she finds him. He’s not sure how she knew where he’d be or how she got up here, but he doesn’t ask and she doesn’t tell him. Instead, she climbs onto the platform to his left, smoothing down her skirt as she takes a seat, and says, “How much longer do you think it’ll be before they let us go home?” 

Soul snorts. “If you’re all hostages in this party situation, what does that make me?” 

“You’re the gentle captor,” Maka says automatically. “You know—there’s always one that has more of a conscience than the others. He sneaks the captives extra food, keeps them company when his co-conspirators aren’t around, tells them sweet lies like he’ll get them out of there even though the captives know he doesn’t have a say. It’s cute though. It’s the thought that counts.” 

Sliding her an incredulous glance, he says, “I feel like you were trying to make me feel better, but that just makes it worse.” 

Maka’s laugh is a sweet, gentle thing in the night, surrounded by the flowing music and low chatter of the still-ongoing party below. After all the children were summoned back by the parents, Soul managed to escape among the chaos, not in any mood to deal with his parents’ disapproval right now. There’s plenty of that to smother him on any other day. 

He tries not to sneak glances at her, but it’s impossible not to, even though he’s aware he’s being totally obvious about it. She just looks so damn ethereal sitting there on his roof, her hair still damp and wavy down her back, her knees pulled to her chest as she stares up at the clear night sky with something like contentment. For all the years he’s lived in this house, he’s never felt as comfortable in it as she seems to be here on this roof, away from the crowds, sitting with a boy she met only a couple of hours ago. 

Suspicion gets the better of him. After all, why would this beautiful, confident girl sit here with him instead of hang out with the rest of her friends at the party below? “Did my mother send you to bring me back down?” 

Maka turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you calling me a double agent, Evans?” 

“Answering a question with a question seems very double agent to me.” 

“I  _wish_ I were that cool.” She exhales deeply, closing her eyes against the haze of this entire night. “Nah, I’m just not in the mood to socialize at the moment. Do you mind if I stay here with you?” 

It takes more effort than he’d like to admit for him to keep his voice level as he answers, “Do what you want.” 

They’re quiet then, but it’s not uncomfortable like Soul expected it to be. Normally when he’s around people, he gets anxious and jittery because he isn’t much of a talker and he knows that makes people uncomfortable as they try to fill the silence with useless babbles, which only makes him uncomfortable in turn, which then saturates the air with a potent awkwardness that makes him want to curl up in a ball and hide until everyone else fades away. His body is tense as he waits for her to try to talk to him, to try and force conversation, exchange polite pleasantries, maybe even talk about the fucking weather as if that’s less awkward than saying nothing at all—but she doesn’t do any of that. 

Instead, Maka simply rests her chin on her knees and breathes deeply, in and out, as if that’s all she needs to stay alive. With each exhale, Soul finds his shoulders losing their tension the more he realizes she really meant what she said. She’s here to escape the crowds, just as he is. 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until she opens her eyes and those startlingly green orbs meet his, jolting him to attention so suddenly that he nearly falls off the roof. Like she had at Kid’s house, his total lack of cool seems to amuse her, and these two perfect little dimples appear on her lower cheeks as she struggles not to laugh. 

“You know, you’re exactly as Blake described you.” When Soul groans, she loses her fight and laughs out loud. “Don’t worry. It might surprise you to hear this, but he’s only ever said good things.” 

The look he gives her is not only incredulous but flat-out disbelieving. “Bullshit.” 

“Would I lie to you?” 

“I don’t know you enough to answer that question.” 

“You know I dislike these parties as much as you do.” 

“Who doesn’t?” 

“Our parents,” she answers automatically, and Soul can’t help the small snort that escapes him. She grins. “Promise you’ll shoot me if I ever grow up to become the kind of person who finds pleasure in sucking up to other rich people over expensive champagne no one likes and soulless music no one connects with?” 

“Only if you promise to do the same.” 

Maka hums. “You know, a suicide pact while hanging out on a third-story roof probably isn’t in the best taste.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up,” he says as he leans back on his palms, strangely relaxed with their banter. “I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when you burst in here all Dawson’s Creek-like, demanding to keep me company.” 

“You know, I’d be all for that reference if Dawson’s Creek didn’t decree that I’d fall in love with your best friend.” 

Soul nearly has an aneurysm just thinking about Maka and Blake as a couple, which makes her laugh at the look on his face. 

“Can I tell you something?” 

“Depends,” he says. “Is it going to make me want to throw up my dinner like the image of you boning Blake that just popped up in my head?” 

She shudders. “God no. In fact, if we can rightfully dismiss the possibility altogether, that would be great.” 

“Done and done.” For selfish reasons he won’t admit. “What is it you wanted to tell me?” 

“I’ve always wanted to meet you.” When he looks at her, startled, she actually blushes a little, which makes her impossibly cuter than before and Soul wants to jab himself in the brain for how pathetic it’s being. “I mean, not to be creepy or anything,” she hurries to add, “but Blake talks about you all the time and you have to be some sort of saint to be able to put up with him like you do, so I figured you must be a cool guy.” 

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Maka flipping Albarn wanted to meet  _him_ , of all people. Him, freak albino of Shibusen and disappointer of parents. Him, Mr. Awkward Extraordinaire. 

Finding his voice box is not as smooth as he wishes it were. “You—wha _huuuhhh_??” _Dear lord, kill me now._

Maka presses two hands to her cheeks as if somehow the pressure will be enough to make the pink go away, and when she lets out a shaky laugh, somehow the fact that she also feels shy in his presence calms him down in a way that even the strongest doses of Xanax have never been able to accomplish. Especially when she admits shyly, “It makes me feel a little better that I’m not the only awkward one here,” which only echoes his thoughts and makes him gape even more with how perfectly she is reading his mind. 

“I—uh—yeah,” he says lamely, and cringes, and then adds, “I mean, if I knew you’d be there, I might’ve actually went with Blake to one of the Spartoi parties he’s always telling me about.” 

“Yeah?” she asks hopefully. 

Soul is going to die. He is going to die because Maka Albarn is the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life and he doesn’t know how to breathe right now without actively heaving, let alone speak. “Y-y _-_ yeah. I kind of assumed that most of Blake’s friends were more like him, so that’s why I’ve always avoided those kinds of things.” 

Maka shudders. “The thought of two Blake Barretts, let alone an entire army of them, is enough to make me want to lock myself in a bomb shelter and never leave. If I thought the same thing, I’d probably avoid our group like the plague just as you did, but I promise we’re not like him.” She pauses. Grins. “Well, I mean, we’re all a little bit crazy, but it’s a different kind of crazy than Blake’s belief that he will one day transcend the gods.” 

“You all ditched a fancy party filled with our parents to strip in my neighbor’s pool,” Soul says wryly. “I think it’s safe to say Blake isn’t the only one with a few marbles missing.” 

“Oh, and you’re so sane?” She raises one perfectly arched brow at him. “What normal things do you do when you’re avoiding hanging out with us?” 

“N-n-nothing!” 

“That blush on your face says you either spend your time playing Warcraft, writing elaborate fanfictions for obscure fandoms, or masturbating.” 

“M-MAKA!” 

“All three at the same time? Huh.” She taps a finger against her chin then shrugs. “Hey, I’m not judging. Whatever gets your rocks off, if ya know what I mean. You do you.” 

“Ohmygod.” Soul buries his crimson face in his hands and wills himself to disappear through the shingles or at least for a very minor apocalypse to take over his home so he doesn’t have to face the reality of this situation. 

Maka’s sweet laugh fills his ears, and when he feels a gentle hand touch his shoulder, he grudgingly lifts his head to see her watching him with nothing but pure affection. No judgement, no malice, no cruelty. Just kindness mixed with good-natured amusement. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you, Soul. Really. To be honest, I hope I’m at least a little right. I could use the gaming partner. Blake’s not bad, but he can be a little overzealous and he’s a terrible teammate because he always rushes ahead without thinking. I can only stand a couple rounds with him before I want to strangle him.” 

Soul gapes at her. “You play?” 

“What, you think guys are the only ones who can like video games?” 

“What? N-no! I just—I didn’t—I mean—”

He’s cut off by the sound of her trilling laugh, so much like music to his ears. “Relax, Soul, I’m just teasing,” she giggles. “But yeah. I mean, I’ve only dabbled in Warcraft before, but I play League pretty competitively and I can kick your ass in any fighter game known to man.” 

“False,” he denies instantly. “I’m unbeatable as Sub-Zero in MKX, so clearly we know you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh yeah?” she challenges. “Well, I’ve never lost as Raiden, Mileena,  _or_  Kenshi, so clearly we know which one of us is more versatile.” 

His crimson eyes narrow. “I have a PS4 in my room. Are you willing to put those cocky lies to the test?” 

Soul isn’t sure how her smile can be both sweet as hell and the hottest thing he’s ever seen, but it is. “Oh, you’re so on.” 

Unfortunately, they only manage to turn on the game while exchanging some pre-fight taunts that are admittedly over-the-top but also incredibly fun when the door to his bedroom flies open and Spirit Albarn appears, looking near tears. 

“MAAKAAAAAAAAA!” the red headed man cries, throwing himself at his daughter. “There you are—I’ve been looking all over for you! Where have you been? Why are you hiding from me? And what are you doing hanging around with this  _boy_?” Maka’s father tightens his trip around her and sneers—full-out  _sneers_ —in Soul’s direction. “Hands off my daughter, Octopus Head. If I find out you laid your grimy fingers on her, you’re dead.” 

“Octopus Head?” Soul blubbers. “What the fuck?” 

Sighing like she’s suddenly aged ten years in thirty seconds, Maka untangles herself from her father’s grasp and nearly kicks him away, a deeply unhappy look crossing her face. “Dad, cool it. Soul and I were just hanging out. Stop being rude.” 

“But you’re in his room! BY YOURSELF!” 

“So?” she says impatiently. “I hang out with Blake all the time by myself and you never say anything then.” 

“That’s because—that’s  _different_!” her father insists. “Blake is an idiot but he’s an idiot who would never touch you! But this one—”

“His name is Soul, Dad.” 

“—is a hooligan!” 

Soul huffs, kind of offended. He’s been called a lot of things in his seventeen years of mediocracy—lazy, a disappointment, and an underachiever to start—but he’s certainly never been branded a hooligan before and he doesn’t know how to feel that the first person to slap him with that label is a man who is currently grasping at his daughter’s knees like a desperate, soap opera-inspired ex. 

Maka seems twice as exasperated as Soul. She shoots him a look that is somewhere between apologetic and a plea for him to shoot her on the spot to save her from her misery. “Dad, let go of me. Stop acting like a child.” 

“No!” the grown man wails. “I won’t leave you alone with this delinquent! You can’t make me!” 

“If you don’t go downstairs and wait for me by the car within the next thirty seconds, I swear to god I’ll call Mom.” 

The absolute horror on her father’s face is almost enough to make Soul feel sorry for him.  _Almost_. 

After another bout of wailing, Spirit Albarn obeys his daughter’s command and Maka pinches the bridge of her nose for a full ten seconds before she finally faces Soul, her expression grim. “Sorry about that. I have to go take care of him before he decides to accidentally burn your house down with spilled vodka and a cigar.” 

Disappointment floods him but he tries very hard not to let it show. “Y-yeah, of course. That’s fine.” 

“Are you busy tomorrow?” 

Soul blinks stupidly. “Huh?” 

“Well, I never got the chance to kick your ass in MK and I don’t like to leave my threats unfulfilled if I can help it. If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I’d like to follow through.” 

His heart beats fast. “Uhhhhh mmm y-yeah! I’d like—I mean, that’d be cool,” he coughs, lowering his voice so he doesn’t sound like a total wimp in his attempt not to kiss her feet. “Yeah. Sure. If you want.” 

When she presses her lips together to hide a smile, Soul wonders if that’s something she does often or if it’s just because he’s so much of an idiot that he makes it happen on a more than regular basis. She holds out her hand. “Your phone?” she prompts amusedly when he merely stares at her outstretched arm like an imbecile. 

He is a tomato. “O-of course! Sorry!” 

After she’s done punching in what he assumes is her number, she hands it back. “Text me tomorrow when you’ve got the time? I’ll come over and we can hash this out for real.” 

Soul bobs his head up and down, his face still embarrassingly red. “Sounds good.” 

“Cool.” Maka is halfway out the door when she pauses and throws a look over her shoulder. “And Soul?” 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Your fly is undone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it's 2018 and i just discovered soul eater and i can't handle it because this ship is literally taking over my life._
> 
> _please send help. and more soul x maka cuteness to read._


	2. Drink or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having a social life is rough. Especially when all your new friends can drink you under the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set my story in California instead of Nevada for event purposes (mostly because I like the beachy, summer, rich kid vibe for these crazy children). Also, mild content warning for underage drinking. The rating will most likely change in future chapters, but for now, I’m keeping things PG-ish. Enjoy! x

Wes is like a proud mother sending his son off to prom for the first time, tears and mock-snapshots and all. 

“Oh, get off it,” Soul snaps with embarrassment when his older brother croons and hovers around him at their front door. “I’m not getting married or whatever. This isn’t even a date. A friend is just picking me up so I don’t have the option to ditch or bail because she knows I really don’t want to go to this thing anyway.” 

“A _friend_ ,” Wes fake-sobs, sniffling into imaginary tissues. 

“I fucking hate you.” The doorbell rings, as if summoned, and Soul fixes his brother with a poisonous glare. “Do _not_ embarrass me or I’ll tell Dad about your secret stash of schoolgirl porn and the other unmentionables you think you’re so good at hiding.” 

The horrified look on Wes’s face is almost as satisfying as his silence. Almost. 

“Hey, Soul,” Maka greets when he opens the door. Even though he’s seen her many times since the Pool Party That Shall Not Be Mentioned from several weeks ago, he still can’t get over how damn cute she is. Like a puppy, all big eyes and sweet smiles and affectionate kisses.

His eyes immediately go to her head and he almost grins at the small speckled bow holding back a section of her blond hair. One thing he’s come to realize over the past month is that she dresses like the cutest human on the planet, more anime character than actual girl, always topped with some sort of hair trinket that would normally go on a five-year-old but somehow works for her.

Psychologists would probably have something to say about him being turned on by that.

She rises to her tiptoes and presses her lips against his cheek like she always does, an heiress greeting he thanks the lords for daily, before her eyes dart to the idiot standing behind him. They widen. “Wes!” 

“Maka?” Wes looks just as surprised to see her and he fixes Soul with something like an accusing look. “The secret friend you’re always talking about is Maka Albarn?” 

Soul frowns. “You two know each other?” 

“We were in the same class together at Shibusen Prep,” Maka explains. “Graduated the year before you started there. Didn’t you ever wonder why I don’t attend with you and Blake?” 

“ _What_? But—but—you’re my age!” 

She shrugs a little sheepishly. “Skipped a few years. It’s no big deal.” 

“She’s lying,” Wes says. “Maka graduated at the top of our class despite being four years younger. She was a genius. I swear, she never got anything less than a point off perfect. She was everyone’s go-to when it came to anything academic, and she was also everyone’s go-to crush.” 

“I was a stubborn know-it-all who hadn’t even hit puberty until my second last year, but thank you, you’re sweet for saying that,” she laughs. “Let’s also rewrite the part where I got so drunk during the junior kick-off party that you had to physically escort me home.” 

Wes laughs loudly. “It was your first experience with alcohol. Compared to mine, it wasn’t that bad.” 

“I was twelve. It was still bad.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I had no idea you were here. I thought you skipped town after graduation and went on tour or something.” 

“Yeah, I just finished the last leg of the recent rotation. Thought I’d come home for a bit to hang out with my baby bro before I head back to Europe.” Wes shifts on his feet, even as he maintains an odd smile. “I heard you stuck around in Santa Monica. UCLA, right?”

“Yeah, my dad was a mess after the divorce and he needed me, so I couldn’t exactly bail on him, even if I wanted to. It’s only a twenty-minute drive from home.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lets out a small laugh, but there’s something strange about the way she avoids eye contact and Wes’s expression tightens so slightly that Soul thinks he’s imagining it. “Now can we please not continue this trek down memory lane? There are lot of stops I don’t care to revisit, especially not in front of your baby brother here. He still thinks I’m cool and I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“Sure, for a kiss.” Wes taps his cheek expectantly.

As Maka rises on her toes to follow through, Soul tries not to imagine murdering his older brother as he grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, let’s get going before we’re late and Blake decides to bestow us with a ridiculous punishment for keeping him waiting.”

Wes grins at him like he knows his secret. It’s thoroughly annoying. “Sure, little brother. Have fun.” This time, he’s the one who kisses Maka’s cheek. “Please go easy on him. My brother is a gentle soul.” 

Soul scowls. “I don’t appreciate that pun.” 

Laughing, Maka hooks her arm through his and beams up at him as she promises Wes, “Don’t worry, I always treat the new ones like virgins. Gotta ease them in _real_ slow.” 

With that, she leads him out the door with his brother cackling behind them and a boner the size of Texas. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my brother?” Soul asks when he straps into the passenger side of her Maserati, trying very hard not to sound betrayed. “If you knew him well enough to attend parties together during high school, I think it’s worth mentioning, considering we’ve been talking every day for the past few weeks over text and voice chat.” 

“First of all, non-nerds call voice chat a _phone call_ , you colossal dork—” She grins at his scowl. “—and secondly, I kind of thought you already knew and were just being nice not to mention it. I was a genius rich kid who thought I was smarter than everyone else because no one dared to tell Spirit Albarn’s daughter otherwise. I’m not proud of the stick up my ass back then. Wes is being sweet, but you and I, Soul, we never would’ve gotten along.” 

“What changed?” 

“I hit puberty and grew up.” She shrugs nonchalantly as she speeds out of the Evans Mansion’s ridiculously long driveway, flawlessly merging onto the street. “Anyway, why do you think I appreciate Blake so much despite his utter tendency to be an idiot? He makes things fun. Interesting. He’s so much of a pompous ass that he keeps the rest of us grounded. We’ve known each other since we were kids—our parents are very close friends—and every time I stuck up my nose, he was right there, ready to knock it back down. I want to gut-punch him half the time but he’s a good person and he’s definitely a really good friend to have.” 

“Yeah,” Soul agrees quietly, understanding the feeling. As annoying as Blake is, Soul wouldn’t have an excuse for a social life without it. He also wouldn’t have met Maka and then where would he be?

“Don’t tell him I said that though,” Maka adds in a grumble. “His head is big enough without us inflating it to twice the size.” 

Agreed. “How the hell do you find the time to play League and go to college at the same time anyway?” He can barely manage the effort to put on pants in the morning, and here she is—super genius, social butterfly, and dream girl gamer all in one.

Her answer is simple and cheerful. “I don’t sleep.”

Soul snorts.

“No, but really though, I’m kind of just lucky,” she admits. “I was blessed with really good memory and perception, which makes it a lot easier for me to understand things in class than it is for other people. Plus, I actually _enjoy_ studying. Learning new things is fun to me. It’s why I like League so much: it’s unpredictable, complicated, challenging. I don’t have time to play as much during the school year, but I use it as a stress reliever whenever it feels like the pressure of everything else is going to get to me.”

“League as a stress reliever,” he deadpans. “You don’t hear that every day.”

Maka slides a grin his way as they pull to a stop at a red light. “Not if we play with Blake, we don’t.”

The memory makes him groan out loud.  

Never. Again.

The three of them ran through Summoner’s Rift with a couple randoms the other night and it only reminded Soul why he typically never played with people he knew in real life. It’s like Mario Party: potentially friendship ruining. After that match, Soul had to sit with his fingers pressing into his temple for a full sixty seconds to resist the urge to storm over to Blake’s house and smack him repeatedly upside the head.

Beforehand, Soul and Maka had agreed that Blake’s _personality_ —read: his tendency to jump first into situations without thinking like a trigger-happy maniac—made it impossible for him to be anything but a tank or jungler. They’d tentatively broached the subject with Blake and were glad that he insisted he was a god and was going to “ruin those fucking motherfuckers, just you watch, I’ll own that shitty lane and beat everyone,” therefore solidifying his role as a tank.

That actually worked best for their team since Maka was by far the best ganking jungler Soul had ever played with. She had insane versatility, foresight, and crowd-control to the point where it felt almost broken. In hindsight, Soul should’ve known she was some sort of super genius because he had never seen anyone grasp minion spawn and respawn times the way she did. Her memory was impeccable, and her ability to apply her knowledge and react accordingly was nothing short of impressive. The first few times they played together in the same room, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her screen because she was like a fortune teller, always knowing where and how monsters were going to attack before they even appeared and reacting to laners in an instant by locking them down so Soul could take the kill.

The two of them made a pretty good team, if he could say so himself.

Unfortunately, they forgot to take into account Blake’s need to be the star. Once the blue-haired idiot realized how well Maka was doing, he quickly abandoned his lane and proceeded to fuck shit up for everyone while Maka and Soul howled at him through voice chat.

Soul’s anxiety makes his blood pressure rise on the reg. Having to deal with a maniacal Blake Barrett on a rampage did not make for a fun time.

“Not gonna lie, but I feel a little inadequate right now,” Soul comments, only half-joking. “You’re way too smart to be hanging out with a slacker like me. Hell, you’re probably too smart to be hanging out with _any_ of us—especially me and Blake.”

“Maybe I like being the smartest one in the room,” she teases.

He snorts. “Don’t be stupid, Maka. You’re the smartest person in _every_ room.”

At that, she practically glows, and Soul thanks heaven and hell that she’s the one driving right now because he couldn’t take his eyes off her if he tried. 

* * *

When you grow up in certain circles, you come to expect a certain level of prestige to the houses of people you call your friends. It’s only natural. As much as you want to say you don’t care about people’s backgrounds and how much money they make, it’s hard to create genuine friendships with people who aren’t used to the same lifestyle because you never know if you can really trust them or not. 

The Evans Manor is like something from a movie. Blake and Maka’s houses are just as grand. 

But Kim Diehl’s mansion... it’s a fucking _castle_. 

“Holy shit,” Soul breathes as Maka drives up the extended cobblestone driveway, past several different guest houses and secondary buildings as they head towards the main one at the end. “I know this seems hypocritical coming from a guy who has a grand ballroom in his own house, but this seems... excessive.” 

Maka laughs at the dumbfounded look on his face. “What can I say? The Diehls are a big deal. Just wait until you see the inside.” 

Understatement of the century. If not for Maka leading the way inside the massive, extravagant building, Soul is certain he would’ve been lost. For days. 

As it turns out, they’re the last ones to arrive. Everyone else is already spread out around the lounge area in front of half a dozen bowls of chips and other snacks as well as a giant screen that can’t be called a TV because it covers the entire freaking wall. 

“Hey, look who made it!” 

Kim and Jackie are lounging back on the far leg of the massive couch with the Patty and Harvar spread out beside them. Ox, Kilik, Blake, and Tsubaki claim beanbag chairs closest to the snack table, and Liz sits between Kid’s legs, leaning against his back while they’re both swaddled with a fluffy grey blanket. They all wave and grin as Soul and Maka walk in. 

Maka instantly drops her bag by the entrance, steals a chip bowl right from Blake’s protesting hands, and drops into the empty seat in the middle of the craze. She then pats the spot next to her and raises a brow at Soul, who still hovers in the doorway. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to join in?” 

He crawls awkwardly onto the couch next to Maka and tries not to blush like an idiot when she stretches a spare blanket over both their legs, cuddling them together. She offers him the bowl, but he’s so nervous he knows he’ll choke to death if he tries to eat right now so he declines. Maka grins as if she can read his mind, all the while popping another chip in her perky little mouth.

Traitor. 

“Alright, now that the slowpokes are finally here, I guess we can get started,” Kim says. She nods to Harvar who immediately nods back and starts unscrewing lids. “What’s your poison, Shark Tale?” 

“Poison?” Soul echoes. “ _Shark Tale?_ ” 

Maka waves him off. “Give the boy a Jack and Coke like me to start. Thanks, Harv.” She accepts the glass and hands it off to Soul’s startled hands, then graciously claims the next one as her own. She takes a sip and moans. “Mmmm, perfect. You’re a god among men.” 

Harvar grins. “I aim to please.” 

“IT IS DISRESPECTFUL TO YOUR GOD TO REFER THAT TITLE TO SOMEONE ELSE,” Blake bellows. “Your punishment will await you, dear mortal!” 

Tsubaki gives Maka an apologetic look and admits, “He drank quite a bit before we got here.” 

“Why am I not surprised,” Maka snorts. “Guess we just need to catch up before the game starts.” She clinks her glass against Soul’s then proceeds to take another gulp. When he merely stares at her like a deer in the headlights, she grins. “Stop looking like I’m about to hit you with my car, Evans. This is how it works. Just go with it.” 

“I am very confused right now.” For some reason, when he agreed to hang out with Spartoi today, this was not what he had expected. So far he’s only socialized with Maka and Blake outside of the group, and his interactions with the former have mostly been limited to chill nights watching nerdy movies and TV shows, playing video games, or following her around on errands. Last week, she and Blake dragged him out to a local fair in which Soul spent most of the time playing mediator while they tried to kill each other during carnival games. 

That has been the extent of his social activity thus far. This is a whole different ball game and Soul is thoroughly underprepared. 

“There’s no need to be confused,” she promises him. “There’s only one rule to game night and one rule only: everyone leaves either drunk or in the morning. No exceptions.” 

“HEAR HEAR,” everyone cheers, lifting their cups in the air before taking a drink. Even Kid participates. 

“So we’re just going to sit here and drink?” Soul asks in confusion. 

Kim shakes her head. “That’s only part of it. We’re all bored heirs and heiresses, are we not? Real life is crap. There’s nothing to do. So we, as Spartoi, like to get together regularly to find excuses to do nothing while consuming alcohol in the most interesting fashion that does not include mingling with other people.” 

“We hate other people,” Jackie explains. 

“Yeah, fuck other people,” Liz agrees. “Big parties are typically lame and going to bars is only fun for people who don’t know what they want in life. We, however, do. We like to play games. We like alcohol. And we like to rib on each other. There’s no better place than this.” 

Huh. “I can get behind that,” Soul says. 

Ox lifts his cup. “Good man.” 

“Of course, we _do_ occasionally leave the great sanctuary that is the Diehl House,” Maka explains, “especially for dares, adventures, and expensive trips outside the state. But our go-to weekly event is a game night in which we reenact a Fight Club Vegas scenario where what happens with Spartoi stays with Spartoi. Understand, Evans?” 

“This sounds kind of like a cult.” 

“Now you’ve got it.” Kilik grins. 

Soul tests his drink, makes a face, then takes another sip. “So you guys keep calling this game night or whatever. Do we actually play a game or is the game just to see who occupies the toilet for the most amount of time at the end of the night?” 

The others burst out laughing at his comment, but despite trying to keep it cool, Soul is kind of freaking out. While he’s good at MOBAs and fighters, his proficiency with anything competitive or game-related starts and ends with the online variety—especially when he doesn’t have to deal with other humans face-to-face. Sometimes he even hates dealing with them behind a screen.

He has trouble interacting with people when it comes to the basic, everyday things—like ordering a coffee without making a complete ass of himself—so trying to assimilate into this group of eccentric teenagers in a competitive setting?

Soul is going to die.

As if sensing his anxiety, Maka’s hand finds his and she squeezes gently while offering him the kindest, most reassuring smile without being the least bit condescending. Just a simple _it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you_ , and while the tension is still there, it does ebb significantly when Maka skinny little fingers are gripping his.

To the others, she quips, “See, guys? I told you. Soul fits right in.” 

Apparently there are several so-called games that run through the night and most of them are only side events for the main purpose of just hanging out with friends. The first is a moustache game. They play a series of movies on the giant screen that they only sometimes pay attention to—movies that had been voted in during the previous game night, which Soul will have a say in next time—and the person who had won the right to choose the movie gets to place the fake moustache anywhere on the screen. When a character’s face lines up perfectly with the moustache, the first person who yells, “PIERRE!” is safe while everyone else is forced to take a drink. 

Yes, it is as nonsensical as it sounds.

Yes, the game was created by Maka Albarn. 

There are several other passively running games similar to the moustache game that run throughout the night, but the main event of the night is a challenge of Command Whistle, which is like Truth or Dare except the victim has no choice in whether they have to answer a question or complete a dare. 

“We don’t play this game often anymore because we tend to get out of hand,” Tsubaki admits. 

“COUGH MAKA COUGH!” 

“Shut the fuck up, Blake! Says _you_!” 

“—but considering you’re new to Spartoi, we decided we had to christen you the right way,” Liz finishes for Tsubaki over Maka and Blake’s back-and-forth argument that only stops when Harvar dutifully shoves a handful of chips in Blake’s mouth to shut him up. 

Maka preens. 

“Because we want to trick you into thinking we’re fair people to start, you can go first.” Kim nods. “Go ahead, Baby Evans. Announce your victim and decree.” 

Soul grimaces. “I demand that everyone stop calling me Baby Evans.” 

“Boooo,” everyone groans. 

Blake throws a handful of chips at him. “Are you serious, man? You get to start off Command Whistle and you choose that as your first behest?” 

“I don’t like being called a baby,” Soul says defensively. 

“Fine, whatever, it’s done,” Jackie says. “It’s your loss. Since you didn’t direct the stupid dare to a single person, we’ll throw the whistle up in the air to determine the next tormenter. Three, two, one—” 

Eleven hands instantly shoot up in the air. 

“YES!” Blake cheers, waving four fingers around like a maniac, ignoring Maka’s groan. “I AM GOD!” 

Soul blinks. “What the hell just happened?” 

“If there’s not a definitive torch passed onto one person, we determine the next darer by doing something we call ‘throwing the whistle up in the air,’” Kim explains. “On the count of three, everyone is to put up a hand with a random amount of fingers raised, and the person who chooses a number that no one else has is the winner. In Blake’s case, he’s the only one who chose the number four.” 

Jackie nods against her girlfriend’s shoulder. “If there’s more than one person who chooses each number, the people who chose the number with the least amount of others play Rock, Paper, Scissors until a person is crowned.” 

“This game is a lot more complicated than I initially thought,” mutters Soul. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Kilik and Maka chorus, wearing matching grins. 

“PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR GOD,” booms Blake. “I have a command for my oldest, most loyal subject and you must all listen to what I have to say.” 

Maka makes a face. “How did I know you were going to choose me…” 

Three hours later, Soul is unfortunately privy to way more personal information about his new friends than he ever wanted to know (like what fetishes Kid jerks his meatstick to and the fact that Blake’s carpets _do_ match the drapes). During that time, the twelve of them manage to polish off an impressive amount of alcohol which results in Soul being unable to feel his toes. 

He also ends up kissing nearly half the people in Spartoi—including Ox and Harvar during the most awkward three seconds of his life. 

Unfortunately, none of his so-called new friends dare him to kiss Maka. The traitors. 

When Soul complains about being picked on after a very uncomfortable liplock with a very gay Jacqueline Dupré, Liz promises that they’ve all done this before, so it’s only fair that he’s put through the same initiation. “Our group is a little—ah, how do I put this— _incestuous_.” 

Soul frowns. “What the fuck does that even mean?” 

“It means that, even without counting Command Whistle hookups—which has pretty much tied everyone together at least once—we’re all related through sex.” 

“ _What?”_  

“Don’t worry, Liz is saying it that way to freak you out on purpose,” Maka assures him. “It’s not like we’ve all had sex with each other. That’s just insane.” 

“We’ve all just had sex with people who have had sex with others, linking us all together,” Liz says with a cheeky grin. “For example, Ox is obsessed with Kim, and even though Kim and Jackie are currently dating, Kim does dabble with Ox whenever they take a break and sometimes even Patty. Patty and Harvar hook up occasionally when they’re both horny and bored, and Harvar has slept with nearly every girl here, including me, while I’ve slept with most people in Spartoi regardless of gender. Tsu is my main girl though, but she does have a casual fling with Blake, and Blake unfortunately also does my sister sometimes, who also does Jackie when she and Kim are on a break.” 

Soul balks. “Holy shit.” He sneaks a glance at Maka. “What about... I mean, do you—?” 

“Oh my god, he’s adorable,” Patty giggles. “He’s already in love with Maka!” 

“I—I—what—bah—I am not! _Ohmygod_ , SHUT UP.” 

Blake is practically howling with laughter. “Bro, that was like the least cool reaction I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble, cutie, but our precious Maka is far from a virgin.” Liz grins. “Harvar drops everything to keep her company whenever she asks and she also hooks up regularly with Kilik. Since Harv has slept with most of the girls here at least once, if you end up fucking Maka, it will give you a one-way pass into our very tangled sex web.” 

Blake makes a face. “I don’t know how I feel about my two best bros having sex with each other.” 

“Yes, because clearly you determine all facets of my sex life,” deadpans Maka. 

“It would shift the blame,” Liz offers, tongue in cheek. “I mean, you wouldn’t be held responsible for your own actions if Blake were behind your sexual decisions.” 

“Yes, but I’d also probably end up with an STD. And a fish.” 

“I AM YOUR GOD. BOW BENEATH ME, MORTALS.” 

Maka shoots Liz a look. Leaning back into Kid, Liz admits, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“PIERRE!” Patty exclaims as Tom Hardy’s face comes into perfect alignment with the moustache on the screen. Everyone else groans but accepts their punishment with a drink. 

Soul promptly loses fifteen minutes of his life. 

When he comes to, he’s being helped into a bed he doesn’t recognize with one arm around Maka’s shoulders and the other around Kid’s, which makes him burst out into near hysterical laughter. Soul has lived next door to Xic Mortimer Jr his entire life and this is the first time they’ve ever made physical contact, let alone shared a conversation that wasn’t facilitated by their parents. Soul always thought Kid was a stuffy loner who didn’t own casual clothes and had a wicked side-eye, but if his long-term inclusion in Spartoi is any indication, Kid’s clearly got more of a social life than Soul. 

The thought makes Soul laugh even harder. 

“Evans has officially lost it,” Kid mutters, eying Soul incredulously as he helps Maka shift Soul’s legs onto the mattress. 

Maka bites back a smile. “Nah, I think he’s just having a good time.” 

“I doubt he’ll feel the same way in the morning.” Kid grunts when he finally yanks the end of the blanket from under Soul’s foot, then folds the comforter over Soul’s starfished frame, looking very displeased with the setup. Fingers twitching, he turns to Maka with a sigh. “You think he’ll be able to keep anything down?” 

She grimaces. “I guess we’ll see.” 

Kid disappears momentarily and reappears with two glasses of water, one of which he hands to Maka, who thanks him graciously, and the other of which he tries to force down Soul’s throat. It takes a bit of struggling and childish groaning on Soul’s part— _why_ he’s struggling, he doesn’t know—but eventually he manages to drink half of it before Kid gives up and sets the rest on the bedside table. 

Maka not-so-subtly moves the garbage bin by the bed next to Soul. 

“I think Liz and I are staying in the main room with a few of the others,” Kid says to Maka ruefully. “You’ll let me know if you need anything else?” 

“Of course. Thanks so much, Kid. For everything.” She kisses him twice, once on each cheek, which manages to wring a small smile from his lips. “See you at breakfast?”

“Mm.” 

Once Kid is gone, Soul’s head flops to the side as he stares at Maka’s back while she shrugs off her cardigan and begins removing her jewelry. His eyes are drawn to the fine lines of her shoulders, the delicate angles and bones as they shift with each movement, and he’s vividly reminded of when they first met in that pool all those weeks ago. Just like he was that night, under the faint reflection of the moon in Kid’s shadowed backyard, he’s fascinated by how someone so small can so much definition. 

Because she _is_ small. Incredibly so. Soul may not be the strongest guy on the block, but he could probably lift Maka with one hand without even breaking a sweat—yet at the same time, he’s watched her fight with Blake all night. They pushed each other, shoved, kicked… At one point, she even chopped him over the head with her bony little fingers and made the muscular, blue-haired mongrel yowl with pain. 

At first it made Soul flinch every time Blake played so rough with her, but Maka Albarn is no wilting flower. Everything he dished, she threw right back. Every time he hit her, she growled and retaliated with just as much force. No one else seemed surprised nor concerned that Blake was so rough with the tiny blonde. Even Kilik didn’t seem to hold back when he and Maka mock-wrestled on the floor during a dare, and Kilik is a freaking quarterback, all broad shoulders and big arms and toned strength. 

Her role in this group confuses Soul. She seems to get along with everyone, like multipurpose glue, and yet she’s probably the one who has the least in common with the rest. She’s in college, for Christ’s sake; the rest of them are still in high school. And yet she never acted like she was better than anyone or smarter than them. It’s like she’s a normal, rowdy teenager, not a child genius who’s set to graduate university at eighteen. 

“They like you,” Soul mumbles. 

Maka’s eyes meet his in the vanity mirror as she sets an earring down on the dresser. “The others? I hope so; I like to think they don’t just hang out with me because of pity.” 

“How?” 

Thankfully, Maka seems to understand his incoherent stream of thought better than he does. “If you want to hear a cool origin story about the creation of Spartoi, you’re not going to find one. We just... fit. I mean, we haven’t always been this close, but for the past few years this has been our norm. People like us have to stick together if we want to make it out alive.” 

“People like us?” he repeats in a slur. 

She is quiet. “A little bit crazy. A lot messed up in the head.” Before he can even process the desire for an elaboration, Maka places her other earring on the vanity and turns around, her green eyes practically glowing in the dim light peeking through the crack in the door from the hallway. Those eyes slide over from where his long legs are angled awkwardly across the mattress to where his head is half-propped up on a pillow, snow white hair sticking up in all directions.

Then she disappears.

When she reappears several minutes later, she’s dressed in a tiny tank top and shorts that make him want to die, her face dewy and soft as if she’d just washed and moisturized it. She jerks her chin at him. “Scoot over.” 

Even drunk out of his mind, Soul’s brain is awkward enough that his eyes widen at the implication of what she’s asking. “Whaaaaaa?” 

Pressing her lips together to hide a smile, she explains, “None of us trust you to be alone tonight in case you choke on your own vomit in your sleep. I volunteered as your babysitter. Unless you really want me to sleep on the floor—” 

“N-no!” Soul blurts out. “Bed! Big! Yes!” 

Maka laughs. “God, you’re cute. Now be cute and slightly smaller so I can fit on the damn mattress. You’re big, but not that big, Evans. Learn to share.” 

“I’m huge,” Soul mumbles as he begs his arm to move so he can make room for her. 

It does. Sloppily. Still—yay! 

When Maka crawls into the space next to him and dutifully adjusts the covers over her body and his, he feels suddenly wide awake, like her presence breathes electricity into him and ignites every vein, every vessel. Even worse, she doesn’t immediately turn her back and dismiss him for sleep like he expects her to. Instead, she lies on her side facing him, her green eyes like curious stars in the darkness. 

“Soul? You feeling okay?” 

He feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest but somehow manages not to choke on his own breath as he forces a nod. 

The corner of her mouth twitches upward in her signature _I see right through you_ smile that he’s starting to become very well acquainted with, and suddenly he’s struck with how close they are, how he could close the gap between them in a heartbeat and have those teasing lips of hers become _his_ lips, and god does he want to claim them so badly. He’s only known her for a few weeks—barely a month—and yet it feels like they’ve been friends their whole lives. She talks to him daily, makes him feel like an important part of her life rather than a charity case, and drags him out when he’s too anxious to go out on his own as if he’s the one doing _her_ a favor. She’s like a fucking beacon in the darkness, and even in his inebriated state, he’s so tangled in her web, he doesn’t know which way is up. 

“Why?” The question is barely a breath. 

Those green-green-green eyes blink at him in the darkness. “Why what?” 

“Why’re you with me?” Why does she talk to him? Why does she go out of her way to be his friend when he’s such an awkward introvert? Why does she stay so close to him when she’s known the others so much longer? Why’d she volunteer to take care of him right now? Why stay? 

Her expression softens. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

“You kissed Kid.” 

“I kissed a lot of people tonight, Soul. So did you.” 

“That’s different,” he insists. “That was for a game. This wasn’t. You kissed Kid’s cheek. _Twice_.” 

“Wait wait wait,” she says. “Out of everything that happened tonight, you’re saying you’re jealous because I kissed Kid’s _cheek_?” 

“Twice!” When she blinks three times then bursts into laughter, his face turns nearly as red as his eyes. “Stop laughing at me!” 

“Oh, Soul,” she nearly croons. “Sweet, sweet Soul. The girls are right: you’re absolutely adorable, you know that?” 

“Stoooop,” he grumbles unhappily, feeling inappropriately emasculated by the repetition of that particular term. Adorable is something you call babies or puppies or even freaking pastel color schemes. It’s not what you call an awkward seventeen-year-old boy you want to sleep with. 

“Soul,” she murmurs again, but this time her voice is warm with pure affection and it makes his heart beat embarrassingly fast considering it’s only one syllable. “I shouldn’t tease you like this because you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying, but because I’m selfish, I’ve let you go on and on even though it’s not fair to you. Feels like I’m taking advantage of the situation and you deserve so much better than that. So to even things out a little, I’ll admit something too: there’s a reason they didn’t dare us to kiss each other.” She exhales slowly. “I asked them not to. Before I picked you up.” 

His heart drops through his stomach. “You didn’t... You don’t want to kiss me?” 

“Soul, the _only_ person I wanted to kiss tonight was you,” she tells him gently. “I just really didn’t want our first kiss to be during some stupid game where we both taste like Jack Daniels and barbecue chips.” 

Face, meet tomato. Clearly Soul’s face has surpassed the fruit as the reddest spherical object of all time. “I-I-I like barbecue chips,” he stutters out in a very uncool manner.

Luckily, Maka still finds him adorable as she presses a hand over her mouth as if to smile, though it’s pointless considering how much her eyes sparkle and how a perfect little dimple appears on her cheek. After a moment of silent giggling, she drops her hand and shifts her face closer, closer, closer—oh god, is she going to kiss him right now, his breath is awful, _he’s not ready!_ —but she only presses her lips against the tip of his nose in a soft kiss before pulling back to beam at him with a brightness equivalent to a thousand suns. 

“Ask me again when you’re sober,” she says, and Soul swears he’s died and gone straight to heaven. 

* * *

 

The next morning, he experiences hell. 

Soul doesn’t even make it to sunrise before he’s stumbling off the bed and vomiting into the trash can Maka had conveniently left out for him. He continues heaving and heaving until it feels like he’s lost everything in his stomach from the past five years along with half of his internal organs—which, ironically, also makes him feel slightly better—and then stays there, curled over the small bin, head pounding, eyes closed, until he feels a small hand on his back. 

Like an angel sent to forgive him for his sins, Maka hands him a small cap filled with mouthwash. Then a glass of water and two godly little pills. When he feels ready to move again, she helps him into the bed again, making sure he’s tucked in properly, asking if he needs anything, if she can do anything, while her gentle fingers smooth through his hair.

He almost kisses her right then and there. 

Instead he falls back to sleep. When he wakes up the next time, sunlight is already filtering through the cracks beneath the curtains, high and bright. It’s probably around ten or eleven, not quite noon. For a long moment, he lays there, debating the pros and cons of remaining in this comfortable, unfamiliar bed when he remembers he didn’t sleep alone last night. 

But when he reaches over for Maka, he realizes she’s gone. 

Disappointment is not a strong enough word for what he feels. 

He finds her in the kitchen nearly fifteen minutes later by following the scent of frying grease and powdered sugar. She’s fluttering like a little bird around the stove, humming absently under her breath as she flips pancakes and nudges spitting bacon slices with the ease of someone who has done this often. Judging from the comfortable way she opens cupboards and grabs utensils from drawers, it’s clear she’s not new to cooking in Kim Diehl’s kitchen. 

Spread out around the counters, Tsubaki, Kid, and Kilik also move unwaveringly, chopping fruits and vegetables and cracking eggs like a well-oiled machine. When Kilik is done stirring another egg mixture, he passes the bowl to Maka who easily pours it onto a fourth pan then proceeds to flip a perfectly round pancake off another pan as Kilik restarts his task. Tsubaki washes fruits, taps them out, and places the bowls in front of Kid so he can slice them while she cleans the counters of any cores and remains. 

It’s like watching a choreographed dance. 

Maka spots Soul hovering in the entryway before he has a chance to announce his presence, and her pretty, heart-shaped face instantly brightens with pure happiness. “Soul! You’re awake.” 

It should be illegal for someone to be that cheerful in the morning. It should also be illegal for her to be so damn cute. Her hair is slightly damp as if she’d taken a shower and she’s wearing different clothes, an off-the-shoulder mint green sweater and tiny jean shorts with giant, embroidered cupcakes sewn onto her ass cheeks.

Kill him now.

Formulating words with a hangover is hard enough without being faced with sweet perfection before he has a chance to replace the alcohol in his veins with caffeine. 

“G’morning,” he croaks, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. His clothes are wrinkled, his brain has decided to take a freaking vacation, and when he runs a hand through his hair, he cringes to realize that he must look like something from a doomsday movie. “I, uh, didn’t know we were making breakfast. You should’ve woken me up so I could help.” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” says Jacqueline as she appears with Kim, nearly startling Soul out of his uncomfortable day-old jeans. “Maka, Tsu, Kid, and Kilik are always the first ones up after a party and they insist on cooking hangover food for us. We’ve tried to help out before, but it’s like adding an extra cog to an otherwise perfect machine. It disturbs their rhythm; they work better as a foursome.” 

“First of all, you _grudgingly_ offered to help _once_ when you looked so hungover you couldn’t even stand up right,” says Kilik wryly, “so of course we sent you away. Secondly, if anyone wants to help, there _is_ one cog that can be adequately replaced. In fact, I’m begging you. Please.” 

“No,” Kid growls instantly, seeming way too engrossed with his slicing of strawberries to be healthy. “This is my job! I refuse to eat fruit that is not divided symmetrically!” 

Seeing Soul’s flabbergasted expression, Tsubaki smiles and explains, “Kid is, um, a little particular about how certain things are done. He’s better than he used to be, but this is one of the few situations he still refuses to budge on.” 

“Which wouldn’t be a problem if it didn’t take him an entire freaking hour to slice fruit,” Kilik teases, his dark eyes twinkling. 

“Bite me, Rung.” 

“Is that an invitation?” 

“All of you, shut up,” groans Blake from the connected dining room, where he sits at the table with his face buried in a concave created by his encircled arms. “It’s too fucking early in the morning to be waking your god. You all need to go back to sleep.” 

“Seventeen years old and you still don’t know how to handle your alcohol. I’m disappointed in you, Blake.” Kim shakes her head mockingly as she leads Jackie to the table so they can claim seats across from Liz, who is currently filing her nails, and Patty, who looks half-asleep leaning against Harvar’s shoulder. 

“Fuck off,” comes Blake’s muffled voice from his arms. “Don’t disrespect your god. I will ruin you.” 

“Well, Baby Evans is doing surprisingly well,” comments Liz as she eyes him. “After last night, I bet on you remaining out of commission at least until after noon.” 

Soul scratches his head as he awkwardly shuffles into a seat at the end of the table, a good distance away from everyone else. “Actually, I was a mess. I was lucky I had Maka to take care of me. She was amazing.” 

“I bet she was,” giggles Patty. 

There’s a half-beat of confusion before his words reprocess inside his brain. His face turns beet red. “That’s not—it wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that, I swear!” 

The other blond sister hums slyly. “Mmmhmmm. I’m sure.” 

“Liz!” He instantly covers his own ears at his bellow. “Ugh.” Guess he’s more hungover than he thought. “How the fuck are you guys even functioning right now? I swear, you all drank way more alcohol than I did.” Plus, Maka’s like ninety pounds soaking wet. There’s no way she should be able to hold twice her body weight in liquor and still prance around like a ballerina this early in the morning. He wants to ask her what her secret is, but singling her out when they’re still teasing him probably isn’t a good idea. 

Harvar grins. “This isn’t our first rodeo, Evans. Combined, the eleven of us probably only have three functioning livers left. You’ll get used to it.” 

“Speaking of the gang,” Liz drawls, her blue eyes sliding across everyone like a prying hand, “we’re still missing someone this morning.” 

Tsubaki appears at the table juggling an impressive amount of bowls—filled with whipped cream, Nutella, and what looks to be three different types of purée—and manages to set them down on the polished wood without even stumbling. “Liz,” she chides lightly. 

The tall blonde blinks innocently. “What? I’m only being honest. He knows the rules.” 

It takes Soul a moment to register who’s missing. “What’s wrong? Is Ox okay?” 

“Not for long,” Blake says grimly. He lifts his weary gaze to meet Soul’s and the seriousness in them is almost startling. “Why do you think I dragged myself out of bed his early instead of sleeping in? You would’ve gotten a free pass because this is your first time here, but Ox...” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Soul resolves to never sleep in around Spartoi ever again. 


End file.
